


Feels Like The Clock Stopped Ticking The Day That I Left

by FireflysLove



Series: Maybe Baby [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Babies, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Cisswap, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Is Married To Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflysLove/pseuds/FireflysLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or,<i> Steve and Bucky Recount Their WWII Sexcapades</i></p><p>The Battle For New York is over. The Avengers won, with a little bit less of Bucky and a little bit more of Steve than they started with. Steve and Bucky's next adventure? Parenthood. Use protection, kids. </p><p>Post-<i>Avengers</i> fic. Takes place between the events of <i>The Avengers</i> and <i>The Winter Soldier</i>. It's another Big Avengers Family fic. With more Bucky and little babies. </p><p>Part 4 of Maybe Baby. Sequel to <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2111451/chapters/4605966">Snow Outside</a></i>, <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2228397/chapters/4888551">One More Year</a></i>, and <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2235156/chapters/4903977">Better In White</a></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Question

**Author's Note:**

> I promised babies, didn't I?

_May 26, 2011_

* * *

 

Bucky’s face is upside down.

“You know, most people do their best thinking in the shower, not standing on their heads,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of the rickety kitchen chair.

“Oh good. You’re home. Can you move that vase, please?” Steve asks, gesturing with her foot.

“Why do we even have a vase?” Bucky mutters, but moves the offending ceramic vessel.

Steve lands on her feet and all the blood rushes out of her face.

“It’s pretty. This nice old lady was selling them in the park for four dollars a piece,” she says with a shrug.

“How’d you get up there without breaking it?” Bucky asks.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Steve says cheerfully. “How’s Tony?”

“He’s less of an ass than his father was, I’ll give him that,” Bucky says. “He says he should have a prototype ready by the end of the week.” He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the carton of milk, drinking directly from the spout.

“You should ask him to give it a vibrating function,” Steve says, examining her nails.

Bucky spits out the mouthful of milk and looks at her with wide eyes.

“The future’s kinky, Buck,” Steve says, then flounces off into the bedroom.

The internet is an interesting place.

 

* * *

 

Steve comes with Bucky when he goes to see Stark’s prototype. The Tower is surprisingly well repaired for having suffered an alien attack less than three weeks ago, and Stark’s lab wasn’t damaged in the first place. Bucky nods amiably at the receptionist on the way to the elevators, while Steve’s busy just staring around.

“It’s like the Chitauri attack never happened,” she says when they get into the elevator.

“You haven’t seen the top floors, then?” Bucky asks.

“Well. I did. But we were glaring threateningly at Loki at the time, so…” Steve says.

“They’re still a mess. But most of the Tower is actually undamaged,” Bucky says.

The elevator dings helpfully as they reach the correct floor, and the doors slide open. Bucky exits, hand in his pocket, and makes an immediate left.

“You almost seem like you know where you’re going,” Steve says.

Bucky chuckles. “Been here a time or two.”

They reach a door and Bucky keys in a code to a panel on the wall. The door swings open and he gestures her through with a sweep of his hand.

“You’re so gracious,” Steve says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Capsicle!” Tony says from behind the bench.

“I thought we talked about that,” Steve groans.

“We did?” Tony says. “Huh.”

“You said something about a prototype?” Bucky asks.

“Right. That. It’s over there,” Tony gestures. “Dum-E stay away from that!”

He puts down the tools in his hand and walks over to a table and brandishes a shiny metal thing.

Bucky takes it from him and nearly drops it. “Jesus Christ this thing’s heavy,” he says.

“That’s because it’s made of steel. I’m still sourcing the material for the final product. It’ll probably be about a third the weight,” Tony says.

“Why,” Steve says, “is it made of metal?”

“It makes it much, much stronger. The other option was carbon,” Tony says.

“I kinda like the look,” Bucky says.

Steve glares at him.

“Oh, alright,” Bucky says. “Stark’s planning on putting fake skin over it.”

“But why metal?” Steve asks.

“Go ahead and show her why metal,” Tony says to Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but puts the arm down on a relatively clean space and begins to unbutton his shirt. He shrugs it off, and uses his teeth to pull the cuff over his right wrist. He drops it on the stool behind him, then unwinds the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Steve’s shocked at what’s underneath. She’d been expecting mostly-healed flesh.

That was not what was underneath the bandages.

Bucky’s shoulder’s now made of metal, wires hanging from it.

Bucky’s lips are moving, but Steve can’t hear what he’s saying, and there’s something wrong with her vision and why is the world tilting left?

 

* * *

 

Bucky shoves his arm under Steve as she falls over, and Stark nearly leaps over the table to grab her on the other side.

“Jarvis?” Stark asks the omnipresent AI.

“Sir, I have contacted your physician. He was in the building and will be with you momentarily. Would you like me to contact Ms. Potts?” Jarvis says.

Stark glances at Bucky, who nods. “Yes. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“What the hell was that?” Bucky mutters.

“Shock at the wires and metal?” Stark suggests.

“She’s seen worse than that. I was there for worse than that. But she hasn’t fainted since 1942,” Bucky says.

There is a tap at the door, and Stark tells Jarvis to let the man in. Bucky nods at the doctor, one Donovan Forbes, who has been the one installing the apparently horrifying new contraption on Bucky’s shoulder.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I was going to try the prototype, so I pulled off the bandage, and I guess Steve hadn’t seen it. Next thing I know, she’s keeling over,” Bucky says. They had managed to get Steve propped up on a couch in the corner of the room.

“In a normal person, shocking sights are something that might cause the blood to rush out of the head, but that’s not something I would expect in Captain Rogers’ case…” Forbes muses.

Steve’s eyes suddenly flutter open, and she passes a hand over her face. She struggles into a more upright position, and stares at the three male faces looking anxiously down at her.

“What the hell?” she says.

“You fainted, Stevie,” Bucky says.

“I… did?” she asks.

Stark nods.

“Captain,” Forbes says, “given your… unusual physiology, I would like to perform a few further tests. Just to make sure this isn’t a residual effect of, well, being frozen for almost 70 years.”

“What kind of tests?” Steve asks suspiciously.

“A blood panel for one thing,” Forbes says. “If that comes up clean, I’ll just chalk it up to abnormal stress.”

“Alright…” Steve says.

“I’ll go upstairs and get a blood draw kit. If you stand up, do so slowly. And have a snack. Something with sugar,” Forbes says as he leaves.

He passes Ms. Potts in the doorway, and she glances after him as he leaves.

“Jarvis said you had something go wrong down here,” Ms. Potts says.

“Apparently I fainted,” Steve says from the couch.

“Well that’s new,” Ms. Potts says.

“I know. Now someone tell Bucky to put that damn arm on because those wires are giving me the creeps,” Steve says.

Ms. Potts sits down by Steve and rifles through her purse. “Eat this,” she says, handing Steve a package of Fig Newtons.

Steve shoves one in her mouth, then her eyes go wide. “These are delicious,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“Good. I spread the Fig Newton Gospel wherever I can,” Ms. Potts says with a twinkle in her eye.

Meanwhile, Stark’s finally done hooking up the various wires, and he twists the arm into the metal cuff attached directly to Bucky’s shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says. “This thing is fucking heavy.”

Steve shoots him a glare. “Watch your language,” she says.

“I apologize, Ms. Potts,” he says.

“I appreciate that, Sergeant,” Ms. Potts says.

“Now wiggle your fingers,” Stark says.

“How do I do that?” Bucky asks.

“How did you do it before?”

“Like this?” Bucky says, and seems shocked when the metal fingers actually move.

“Exactly like that. Now you should keep that until I get the vibr—until I get the material for the final product in,” Stark says. “It’ll get you used to it.”

Steve’s made her way through half the package when she pipes up, “You still never told me why metal.”

Stark turns to a table and grabs something flesh colored. “Because this is standard-issue prosthetics,” he says, proffering the plastic arm to Steve.

She takes it, turns it over, and then looks back up at him.

“Metal makes sense now.”

 

* * *

 

Later, Steve’s lying in bed, considering the many merits of Bucky’s new arm when the phone rings. Bucky mumbles something from his position under the blanket, and shoves weakly at Steve’s leg.

“Fine,” Steve groans.

She retrieves the phone and answers it, “Hello?”

“Captain Rogers-Barnes?” a male voice says.

“This is she,” Steve says.

“Captain, this is Dr. Forbes. Mr. Stark’s doctor?” the voice says.

“Did something come back in my blood?” Steve asks, voice rising in pitch.

“Well, yes, and it certainly explains why you fainted. I’m going to ask you to sit down for this,” Dr. Forbes says.

Steve sits roughly on the bed, and Bucky pokes his head out. She knows he can hear both sides of the conversation.

“All right,” Steve says. “I’m sitting.”

“Captain,” Dr. Forbes says. “Stephanie. I… um…”

“Just spit it out!” Bucky calls from behind her.

“Ma’am,” the doctor says. “You’re pregnant.”

“What?” Steve says.

“With a baby.”

“I got that part,” Steve says.

“I can recommend some obstetricians…” Forbes says. “Would you like me to call back in the morning?”

“I… I think that’s probably a good idea,” Steve says, hand dropping to her abdomen.

“Very well. Sleep well,” Forbes says. “Good night.”

“Yeah, that,” Steve says distractedly, then tosses the phone onto the floor.

She turns to Bucky. “What the hell?”

“Do the words ‘It probably won’t happen just the once’ mean anything to you?” Bucky asks.

“Shit,” Steve says.

“Well we did want kids,” Bucky says.

“I know,” Steve says. “But it was always a hypothetical! I was sterile, and then there were the war years, and then we were frozen for most of a century. I just… I had thought about it during the war, but it always seemed like a distant prospect at best.”

“Well, it’s here now,” Bucky says.

“What are we going to do?” Steve moans.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “What we’re going to do is be parents.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.”


	2. The Second Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stares out a window then they fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Holy fucking shit. It kicked my ass to write it, but I'm pleased with the result? I didn't expect the amount of fucking that made its way in here. So much fucking. This chapter is literally 2/3 porn. And it was embarrassing as hell for me to write. 
> 
> One more thing: because this fic is going to take place over nearly 3 years (May 2011-April 2014), the top of each chapter will have the date(s) of its contents. It started May 26, 2011.

_May 27, 2011_

 

* * *

 

It’s surprisingly easy to sleep that night, at least for Steve. Or maybe that’s just the stress of the day and its exhaustion talking. She stumbles through the next morning, her breakfast was probably grapefruit, but it’s kind of a blur. Bucky gives her a wide berth, but encouraging glances.

Dr. Forbes calls back and asks her to meet him at the Tower later that day. She tells him they’ll be there around two that afternoon for Tony to check on Bucky’s arm anyway, so she’d be happy to meet him after that.

She throws most of the grapefruit away, and stands for a long while staring out the window. Bucky brings her a cup of coffee, which she takes with a small apologetic smile. He nods, and goes back to the newspaper that resides on the boxes that serve as a sofa end table.

The sun is slanting directly into her eyes when she turns from the window and puts the now-empty cup in the sink. She takes two cookies from a bag on the counter and goes into the living room. She flops down on the couch and hands one of the cookies to Bucky. He holds up his arm and she snuggles into his side.

“I’m not in shock, I swear,” she says finally.

“I know,” Bucky says.

“It’s just that we never expected this,” she rambles on. “I mean, between the scoliosis and the asthma, we couldn’t have had a baby before the war. There was no possibility _during_ the war years. And… well…”

“A baby during the war. That wouldn’t have been good for anyone involved,” Bucky says.

“I know. That’s why I never told you,” Steve says.

“Told me what?”

“1944, we were in Poland. I was late. I thought, well, there were a few days where I was kind of panicky. That’s how you ended up with the knife in your thigh,” Steve says, burying her head into his shoulder.

Bucky sighs, “That knife hurt, you know. It still hasn’t healed completely.”

“Sorry,” Steve mutters.

“As much as I can say now I wish you told me, I’m glad you didn’t. That during the war would, well, it probably wouldn’t have helped matters much,” Bucky says.

“Buck. Three days later we were having sex in a canoe,” Steve says.

“We flipped that boat! And it ripped the stitches. You weren’t there when I had to explain why the stitches were coming out to the nurse,” Bucky says.

“I believe that was _your_ idea,” Steve says.

“Well, actually, now that you mention it, it was a dare. From Gabe. He said we couldn’t do it without tipping the canoe over,” Bucky says.

“What did you have to give him?” Steve asks.

“There was a very tasty looking steak involved,” Bucky says morosely.

“Are you certain that it actually was _cow_?” Steve says.

“I met the cow it came from,” Bucky says.

“Look at the Brooklyn boy branching out into the country,” Steve says.

Bucky takes offense to this, apparently, because the next thing Steve knows, she’s on the floor fighting off Bucky’s tickle attack. She plants a foot between his thighs, and rolls him over until she’s kneeling on either side of his hips.

“If this kid is anything like us, we’re going to have a hell of a time with him,” Steve says.

“So you think it’s a boy?” Bucky says, folding his arms under his head.

“I do,” Steve says.

“Wanna bet?” Bucky says.

“You think it’s a girl?” Steve says.

“Yep,” Bucky nods. “If it’s a girl, I get to name her. If it’s a boy, you get to name him, deal?”

“Deal. You’re not getting a junior, Mr. Barnes,” Steve says. “I think I’ll call him Barney Rodger.”

“I’m naming her Winifred Bertha, after my grandmothers,” Bucky replies. Steve tries to hide her wince.

“I’m calling her Freddie, then,” Steve says.

“Steve, Steve’s a boys’ name too, you know that, right?”

“One that was your idea, if I remember correctly.”

“No, I believe the exact conversation was ‘Well, you’re a girl, I can’t call you Steve.’ ‘I like that, you should call me Steve!’”

“I was six!”

“Your _mother_ was using it by the next week,” Bucky says.

Steve snorts. “That’s true.”

“Do you miss it?” Bucky says.

“Miss what?” Steve says. “The 40s? No, not really. I miss the last 66 years, sure, but the future seems pretty great.”

“Not being at war certainly has its advantages,” Bucky says, his hand drifting across her midsection.

She smiles softly. “It does indeed.” She leans down and puts her hands on either side of his head. “We should give that canoe another try sometime.”

“Does the future even have canoes?” Bucky asks.

“Is that really the question you want to ask me right now?” Steve says.

“Well now that you mention it…” Bucky says, and twists his fingers into the back of her hair. It’s longer now than it’s been since before he shipped off for England that fateful day in 1943. The front nearly touches her collarbones, and he can actually curl his fingers in the strands on the back of her head. She obliges him and lowers the four inches to kiss him.

“You’re a little shit you know,” she says against his lips.

“Pot callin’ kettle, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve doesn’t answer him but instead puts her hands flat on the floor on either side of his head and presses a kiss firmly to his forehead. She maps the contours of his face using nothing but her mouth, and when his hands stray from her hair to grab at something else, she pulls back, grabs his wrist firmly, and replaces it on her head.

“You just leave those there,” she says with a growl.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky gulps.

Steve traces the lines of his throat with her lips, then pulls down the collar of his shirt. She nibbles at the exposed collarbone, and Bucky’s hips jerk under her. Apparently this is doing something for him. She bites harder into the skin, not quite breaking it, and then soothes the sore spot with a brush of her lips. A trail appears across the upper portion of Bucky’s chest, dark splotches from the ball of his right shoulder to the point where flesh meets metal on his left.

“Does it have any feeling?” she asks him, tracing a hand lightly over the plates of steel.

“Yes. Can you ask me that again la- _holy shit_ later?” Bucky says.

“Hmm. I guess so,” Steve says. “You particularly attached to this shirt?”

“Nope,” Bucky says.

“Good.” Then she grabs the collar with both hands and pulls in opposite directions. The room fills with the sound of slowly snapping threads and muffled gasps as she painstakingly rips the plain white shirt directly down the center, following the newly revealed expanse of skin with more bites and sucks, until she reaches the waistband of his pants. She’s now sitting on his thighs, hands on his hips, his erection pressing lewdly into her chest.

Steve sits back to regard her work, and his fingers tighten in her hair. His chest now resembles a T of dark bruises, although the first ones are already starting to heal. Her mouth becomes a moue of distaste, and she considers renewing them, but changes her mind when Bucky twitches helplessly beneath her.

“Now, now, be patient, Mr. Barnes,” she says.

He sticks his tongue out at her.

She deftly unties the knotted drawstring of his pants, and slides a hand into them. Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing anything underneath. Curling her fingers around his erection, she uses the other hand to tug the pants down. Bucky obligingly lifts his hips, as far as he can with her sitting on his thighs, anyway. She uses both hands to somehow remove them without dislodging Bucky’s hands from her hair.

Finally, she comes to rest on his thighs again, and looks up at him through ridiculously long lashes. His head is raised and his pupils are blown so wide that it swallows nearly all of the blue.

“Now, how much do you suppose sex has changed in the future?” she asks.

“From what I’ve seen, not that much,” Bucky says.

Steve smirks again. Then, still staring at him, she wraps her mouth around the head of his cock. His hips stutter up, and she firmly places her hands on his hips. She raises an eyebrow, then lowers her mouth further and does _something_ with her tongue that makes him strain against her weight.

It’s one of the most ridiculously filthy things Bucky’s ever seen. Steve’s got half his cock in her mouth, she’s staring up at him through the whole thing, and she’s _still completely clothed._ He tries not to pull her hair as she hollows her cheeks, but the left arm’s still a little slow to respond, and she flinches at the tug.

“Sorry, God, sorry,” Bucky says. He nearly lets go, but her brows furrow, and she does her best to glare at him.

She pulls back. “You let go and I’m stopping,” she threatens. He nods furiously.

Lifting one hand, she shifts the other to the center of his stomach. More a warning than to actually hold him down. Her mouth returns to him, and her free hand spans the neglected space. Bucky forces his hips down and into the floor while simultaneously desperately trying not to guide Steve’s movements. It’s a losing battle, though, and one or the other is going to give.

His hands flex on her head, pushing it down just the tiniest bit. He freezes, and stares, eyes impossibly wider, at Steve. She raises an eyebrow, then gives a curt nod and presses her head back against his palms. Tacit permission. Gently, not so much guiding as providing pressure, he tightens his grip and her head moves down.

The crick in his neck gets to be too much, and he throws his head back, eyes fluttering shut. Sounds spill from his mouth, and if you asked him later, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what they all were, only that “Fuck” “god yes” “please” and “Steve” featured prominently. Tight, white heat curls in his stomach, and he lifts his heat up again.

Steve’s eyes flick open, and the edges crinkle in what is probably a smile. Or a smirk.

He warns her with a quick tightening of his fingers, and she pulls her head back. Her hand quickly twists across him, and he’s seeing stars that are a suspiciously familiar shade of blue.

As he comes back down, his hands finally leave her head, and he lays spread eagle on the floor.

“Holy shit,” is all he can manage.

“Thank you,” Steve says. He can’t see her face, but he can _hear_ the smug smile on her face.

Minutes pass, and finally he tilts his head to the side, in an attempt to see the clock. “What time is it?” he asks Steve, finally.

“12:45. You should probably take a shower before we hike over to the Tower,” she replies.

“Care to join me?” he asks.

“I think I will,” Steve replies. She stands up, releasing his legs, and offers him a hand. He takes it, and she barely has a second to register his movement before he has her pinned to the wall.

 

* * *

 

Steve sort of expected this. Bucky’s always been an equal opportunity lover. Actually, if anything, he’s overgenerous. Not that she’s complaining of course.

She’s backed into the wall between the kitchen and living room, Bucky’s left hand holding her wrists together over her head, his thigh between hers.

“Now, Pot, would you like to say something to the Kettle?” Bucky asks.

“No, not really,” Steve says with a shrug. Or the best approximation of a shrug one can do with one’s hands pinned above one’s head.

“Such a shame,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m going to have to do something about that.”

He releases her wrists, scoops his metal arm under her bum, and lifts her onto his waist. Her hands clasp behind his neck, and he kisses her within an inch of her life.

They find themselves in the bathroom, and when Bucky puts her down to turn on the shower, she quickly divests herself of shirt, socks, and pants. He turns back around to grab her again, and raises an eyebrow at her sudden nakedness.

“I think you’re wearing too much,” she says.

“You’re the one who ruined it,” he replies.

“So I did…” Steve muses.

He shucks it and tosses it in the general direction of the trashcan. “This metal arm certainly has its advantages,” he says. “For one thing, I can actually pick you up with one hand again.” This he demonstrates, and carries her into the shower. “The shoulder’s made of whatever Stark’s going to make the rest out of. He still hasn’t told me what it is.”

“You’re giving me an overview of your arm’s mechanics _now_?” Steve says.

“Well,” Bucky says, “it’s supposed t’ be a rather _practical_ lesson, Stevie.”

“Then by all means, proceed,” Steve giggles.

“’S what I thought,” Bucky mutters. “Now. They had t’ reinforce the bones on my left side. To support the weight of the arm.”

Steve traces her hand across his back, and there, beneath the rapidly healing skin, she can feel new scar tissue. “Bucky, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew how you’d react. I consented to it, and they put me out. Barely hurt at all,” Bucky says dismissively. “Like I was saying, the shoulder’s a different material. And whatever it is is wired into my central nervous system. Everything above the steel arm has full feeling.”

“So if I do this,” Steve says, and nibbles lightly on his metal shoulder, “you can feel it?”

His response is a high pitched whine. Steve snickers.

“However, I still have this lovely right arm that has _full feeling_. Right down to my _fingertips_ ,” he growls at her, demonstrating that, indeed, he does have full feeling in those fingers.

Her weight is suspended between her upper back on the wall and Bucky’s metal arm under her ass. His right hand twists into her water-and-sex-slick warmth. She moans, and her head crashes back into the tiles.

“Shit, ow, fucking wall,” she says.

“Easy there, Stevie,” Bucky says, but steps closer to the wall, and shifts her weight so she’s leaning into him instead of the wall. Her mouth burrows into his neck and she bites down on his trapezius muscle as he makes quick, furtive movements with his hand against her.

“Fuck you,” Steve says.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky asks.

She bites harder. Her ankles lock around his waist, and warmth spreads from toetip to the crown of her head as she comes around Bucky’s fingers. He hisses as her teeth nearly take a chunk out of him.

Steve comes down slower than usual, but that might have something to do with the way Bucky won’t let her go. Finally, she pokes him in the chest, and he lowers her to the floor. She retrieves the bar of soap that Pepper had insisted she get when the other woman was helping her stock the apartment. It’s orange with a bird on it and smells like nectarines. Or so the packaging says.

As she’s sudsing up her hair with it, she regards Bucky. He’s a right sight, chest liberally spangled with dark splotches, teeth marks in his right shoulder.

“Sorry about the biting,” Steve says.

Bucky twists his head in an attempt to look at the mark. “Is it bleeding?” he asks.

“Not quite. Another two minutes, and it probably would have been,” she says, turning into the spray to rinse the soap out of her hair. “You know, in about an hour, you’re going to be shirtless in front of Stark. Even I couldn’t heal that fast.”

Bucky looks at her thoughtfully. “Well, he’s going to know who gave them to me,” he says.

“I’ll bet Howard never mentioned that time he walked in on us in Vienna,” Steve says.

“It’s your mission in life to scandalize Starks, isn’t it?” Bucky says.

“Absolutely,” Steve replies. “Now let’s go do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Tony. More on the baby next chapter. I promise. They just had to take a wander into Fuckland. 
> 
> Chapterly reminder that [_Streamers and Papers_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2218428) is a thing, and sometimes I put things up there between the chapters of the main fic. 
> 
> (Also, no, those are NOT the names I have chosen for this child, I promise.)


	3. The Third Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky visit the obstetrician. Steve's a troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The list of Steve's illnesses has been compiled partially from lists in the movie, partially from fanon, and partially from the 'normal' illnesses a child in the 1920s might have.

_June 17, 2011  
(Six Weeks, Two Days Pregnant)_

 

Steve fidgets uncomfortably with the cloth of the hospital gown they gave her. “I’m still not sure why this thing is completely necessary,” she mutters.

“It’s a good look, Stevie,” Bucky says.

“Shut up,” Steve says.

The door opens and a diminutive woman steps in. She’s wearing a white lab coat, and her raven hair is swept into a bun on top of her head.

“My name is Dr. Morse,” she says. “But you can call me Verity.”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says. “And this is Bucky.”

Verity takes both their hands and shakes them. “I’m not going to pretend that I _don’t_ know who you are, because that would be ridiculous. However, I _am_ going to request that all world-saving activities remain outside this room unless they actively apply to your pregnancy,” she says.

“I think we can at least _try_ ,” Steve says.

“Good. Now I have an extensive series of questions I have to ask you, and although your medical history is already on file with SHIELD, I need it directly from your mouth,” Verity says.

“Pre or post serum?” Steve asks.

“Both. We don’t know the _exact_ effect of the serum on your genes, and it’s a possibility that your child will be born with any condition you had,” Verity says. “In fact, I’m going to need a medical history from both of you.”

“I hope you brought a lot of paper,” Bucky mutters.

“Well, let’s see,” Steve says. “Before the serum… Asthma, mild scoliosis, consistently underweight, a heart arrhythmia, anemia.”

“Pneumonia five times, scarlet fever when you were nine, rheumatic fever when you were eleven, every damn cold that someone on the block had, bronchitis at least every other year, and chronic sinus infections,” Bucky puts in.

“Chickenpox, measles, German measles, mumps, and what my mother thought was probably polio,” Steve finishes. “Oh, and the flu every year. I’m pretty sure I was also barren, but _obviously_ the serum fixed that.”

Verity blinks. “Well, then. That’s _quite_ the history. Most of what were considered ‘childhood diseases’ are now preventable with vaccines. And some of your chronic problems were probably caused by them, the heart arrhythmia in particular is a lingering effect of rheumatic fever. Did any of them seriously affect your ability to live a normal life?”

“The asthma. I had at least an attack a week. Somehow I made it 25 years without suffocating to death from it,” Steve says.

“And your history?” Verity asks, turning to Bucky.

“Chickenpox, measles, German measles, the occasional cold, the flu twice,” Bucky says.

“And that time you got scurvy,” Steve says.

“That’s because I let you have all the fruit!” Bucky replies.

“And I thank you for that,” Steve says.

“Family histories?” Verity cuts in.

“My father died of mustard gas in the Great War,” Steve says. “World War One, that is. My mother was a nurse in a TB ward, and she couldn’t shake it in the end.”

“I… actually don’t know,” Bucky says. “My parents were still alive when we went into the ice.”

“Alright,” Verity says. “Anything of note since the serum?”

“Well, I was shot a few times. And stabbed besides,” Steve says. “But not so much as a sniffle.”

“These next few questions are something I have to ask, and I’m sorry about that,” Verity says. “Have either of you ever had any sexually transmitted diseases?”

“I haven’t,” Steve says immediately, glancing at Bucky.

“No,” he says.

“I didn’t think so,” Verity says. “How many sexual partners have you had?”

“One,” Steve says, a flush starting to rise on her chest.

“When was the date of your last period?” Verity asks.

“Some time in April of ’45,” Steve says.

“You…what…Well. That’s certainly quite the calculation to make. I don’t suppose you know the date of conception?” Verity says.

“May 4,” Steve says.

“Wasn’t the Battle for New York on May 4?” Verity asks.

“Yes it was,” Steve replies.

“I don’t even want to know,” Verity says, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Now, normally, ultrasounds aren’t possible until the eighth or so week of pregnancy, but we have access to special SHIELD technology, so we can do one today if you want.”

“Ultrasounds?” Steve says.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot. Sonograms use sound waves to create a picture of your insides. It’s used to look at hearts and other organs sometimes, but also for pregnancy,” Verity says.

“You mean we can actually _see_ the baby?” Bucky asks.

Verity nods.

“The future is the best,” Steve says.

 

* * *

 

They send Bucky out of the room for the rest of the examination, something about internal examinations. He goes into the waiting room and picks up a magazine. His own face stares back at him, and he resists the urge to toss it across the room. He settles in, something learned from hours behind a rifle during the war. It seems like no time at all later when a hand shakes his shoulder. He looks up, and Steve’s there, normal clothes back on.

“We have to go to another room to see the baby,” she says.

Bucky rises and follows her down the hall. Verity is standing by a door, and gestures them in. Steve gets up on the table and pulls her shirt up.

“This stuff’s cold,” Verity says. “I don’t know why they can’t make it warmer, even with all the advanced technology.”

Even with the warning, Steve still jumps at the contact of the gel on her skin.

“Now I just turn this on, wiggle this around… and there,” Verity says, turning the screen so they can see it.

She gestures with her hand, “This is the baby here, and if I just go like _this…_ That’s the heartbeat. But… what…no…”

“What?” Bucky asks, an edge of panic in his voice.

“There are two heartbeats,” Verity says. “Give me a moment. It could just be yours, Steve, but…”

She twists the screen away from them, and moves the wand in different directions.

“Yes it is…” she mutters, then pushes the screen back. “See that there?”

“Is that what I think it is?” Steve asks.

“If you think that’s a second baby, you’re absolutely correct,” Verity says.

“Twins?” Bucky chokes out.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes. Twins,” Verity says.

All the blood rushes from Bucky’s head.

 

* * *

 

Steve tries to stop Bucky’s fall, but her position isn’t the best. He ends up on the floor, metal arm having caught most of his weight.

“Is this the first time he’s fainted?” Verity asks, hurrying around the table to Bucky’s side.

“He does that under stress sometimes. The last time was right after I rescued him from the Hydra base. I, personally, think it’s a side effect of his botched serum,” Steve says.

“ _He_ has serum?” Verity asks.

“Dammit. I forgot that never made it into the records. I only found out a few days before we went under,” Steve says.

“I presume you’d like me to keep that quiet,” Verity says.

“I think Bucky would rather share that with SHIELD on his own time,” Steve says.

“Share what?” Bucky asks from the floor.

“Your dirty little Hydra secret,” Steve says.

“Oh, that one,” Bucky says. “Did I really just pass out again?”

“Yes, you did,” Verity says. “We’re done here, if you want to go home.”

“Thank you, Verity,” Steve says.

“It was my pleasure, Steve, Bucky.” She exits and shuts the door behind her.

“Twins…” Bucky says.

“The serum apparently works,” Steve says.

She takes the paper towel that Verity left on the stand and wipes off the goo, then jumps down from the table, resettling her shirt.

“Tony says he has nearly finished the actual arm,” Bucky says as they walk out. “He wants us both to come down tomorrow afternoon. There was something about an apartment there, too…”

“Well, we’re not going to fit in a one bedroom for many more months,” Steve says. “Might as well get moved in before these two move out.”

“Twins…” Bucky mutters. “Why must we do everything by extremes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah. Twinsies.


	4. The Fourth Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has morning sickness. Natasha implements stage one of her course 'Modern Femininity for the 1940s Superhero', _Superhero Hair Care 101_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially Pepper's stylist and Steve's hair.

_June 28, 2011_

_(7w6d)_

* * *

 

Bucky wakes to an empty bed.

He starts to leverage himself up with his hands, then remembers that his left arm is currently missing because Stark needed data he collected from the prototype to finish the final product. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he sits up and glances at the glowing red light of the alarm clock. _4:07._ Steve’s always been a morning person, but she usually likes to stay in bed until the sun’s up at least.

A sound emanates from the bathroom, and he walks to the door. It’s mostly shut, but a crack of light appears from inside. Cautiously pushing it open, he’s greeted by the sight of Steve kneeling in front of the toilet.

“Steve, are you all right?” he asks cautiously.

“I blame you for this,” she says darkly.

“You should probably blame Dr. Erskine, instead,” he says. This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“Next time I see him, I’ll do that,” Steve says. “This is disgusting. It got everywhere this time. Even in my _hair._ ”

Bucky says nothing, but goes to the shower and turns it on. Meanwhile, Steve shuts the toilet lid, flushes it, and wobbles to her feet. Bucky rushes to steady her, and gently pulls the soiled shirt over her head, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. She hangs onto his shoulder with one hand while she pulls off her socks with the other. By the time she reaches her pants, she’s steady on her feet again, and actually manages to land them in the hamper. Bucky divests himself of his own pajamas as fast as he can with only the one hand.

By the time he joins her in the shower, she already has soap in her hair and is tugging at it, trying to get the tangles out. He brushes her hand away, and unknots it himself, not trusting her not to pull it all out.

“I hate this,” she says, gesturing to the soap. “Before, even when we couldn’t afford potatoes, I had better stuff than that to wash my hair with. I refuse to believe the future doesn’t have anything better.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise as he takes the soap to his own hair.

“Do you think I should ask Natasha?” Steve continues.

“She seems like a knowledgeable sort,” Bucky says. For his entire life, the cosmetics and aesthetics of women have baffled him. Even when he learned how to do his own hair properly, seeing Steve be able to poke implements at her hair and have it come out looking attractive was a complete mystery.

Soon the water runs tepid, Steve moans in frustration. Bucky shuts it off, and ushers her out. She wraps herself in a big fluffy towel, and runs her fingers through her hair. He hands her a comb, and she brushes most of the tangles out.

Bucky dries himself off, then turns to say something to Steve. But despite the warm temperature of the steam filled bathroom, her teeth are chattering. Decades-old instinct kicks in, and he wraps himself around her.

“Back to bed, now,” he says.

Her face is smooshed into his chest, and she nods as best she can. Not letting go of her, he walks her out of the room, back into the bedroom, and into the bed. She rolls into it, pulling the covers up to her chin. He walks around the other side, slides in himself, and pulls her into his chest. Her cold feet tangle between his calves, and the last coherent thought he has is that he should invest in wool socks for her.

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes to an empty bed.

She scrubs a hand over her face, and opens her eyes. The clock reads _7:23._ Banging sounds from somewhere in the apartment, and she rolls out of bed to investigate. Pulling on the first clothes she finds in the drawer (A pair of Bucky’s pants and a shirt that inexplicably reads “I ♥ NY”), she exits the bedroom.

A crash from the kitchen followed by swearing enlightens her on where Bucky disappeared to.

She stands in the doorway, watching as he attempts to crack eggs into a skillet with one hand.

“Do you need any help?” she asks.

“Please,” Bucky says. He turns to look at her, and his entire front is covered in flour. “I made pancakes, but those burned. I tried sausage, but it’s somewhere under the fridge, and the knife is in the wall…”

“We really need to get you your arm back,” she says, voice warm with amusement.

“Tell me about it,” Bucky says.

She slides between his body and the stove, and takes the carton of eggs from him.

Later, after they’ve eaten, the phone rings. The sound is still unfamiliar to Steve, and she nearly drops the glass she’s washing on the floor. Bucky hurries into the living room to answer it. He returns a few minutes later with a smile on his face.

“Stark says it’s done, and he wants me to come down to the Tower as soon as possible,” he says.

“Oh, good,” Steve says. “I’ll finish washing these, you get clean clothes on, then we’ll go.”

Bucky nods, and goes into the bedroom to discard the flour covered clothes. Dishes finished, Steve pulls on her socks and shoes, and grimaces at herself in the mirror. Her hair is still a mess, having dried while she was sleeping. Not wanting to deal with it, she twists it violently, and shoves a few pins deep into the mess.

Tony’s sent a car to get them, and they slide into the back seat. It’s a short drive to the Tower, and the driver drops them off at the front door. The receptionist nods at them as they pass.

As they’re waiting for the elevator, a horrified gasp sounds from behind them. Steve turns to see what happened, and Natasha is standing behind her, hand covering her mouth, shaking her head.

“No,” she says. “I don’t care what you have planned for the day, it’s all been cancelled. This is an intervention.” She seizes Steve by the shoulder and pulls her across the room to another elevator.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you later,” Steve says to Bucky.

Natasha shoves Steve into the elevator, slams a button, and yanks out her phone.

“Pepper?” she says into it. “We have an emergency. Code Blonde.”

As the elevator rises, Steve tries not to cower in fear as the shorter woman stares at her with furrowed brows. Finally, the doors slide open, and Natasha pulls her out by the wrist. They’re on a floor unfamiliar to Steve, and although she tries to look around, she’s shoved in a room and Natasha closes the door behind them.

Pepper Potts and a woman Steve doesn’t recognize are sitting at the table.

“Steve,” Natasha says. “This is an intervention.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Pepper says, rising to stand next to Nat.

“But your hair sucks,” Natasha finishes.

“I know it does. Soap’s the worst thing ever for washing it, but it’s all I have,” Steve says.

“Oh thank god,” Pepper says. “I thought we were going to have to convince you to use hair products.”

“I had things before the war, but in the military, the men just use soap. And sometimes pomade,” Steve says.

“This is Mira,” Pepper says, gesturing to the other woman. “She’s my stylist. Because you need a haircut. Desperately.”

“Unless you like what you have going on, of course,” Nat puts in hurriedly.

“The whole ‘I'm growing out my WWII man's haircut that was last trimmed by my husband in a tent in the Austrian Alps in 1945’ thing isn’t attractive?” Steve asks.

“It’s kind of choppy,” Nat says.

“That’s because the top front was four times as long as the back to begin with,” Steve says. “It hasn’t been cut since February 1945.”

Natasha pushes her into a chair, and Mira puts a cape on her.

“Now, what do you want to do with it?” Mira asks, starting to pull the pins that Steve had roughly shoved in it out.

“Eventually, I’d like it to be as long as it was before the war,” Steve says. “That’s about here.” She gestures to a spot roughly four inches below her collarbone.

“Growing it out gracefully is going to be a trick,” Mira mutters, probably to herself. “How fast does it grow?”

“About an inch a month since I got huge,” Steve says. “And I’ve heard being pregnant makes it grow faster.”

“That it does,” Mira says. “I can account for that, but it usually falls out after the baby’s born. Your hair’s so thick to begin with that you might not notice a real difference.”

“Do whatever you want to make it look better,” Steve says. “My only request is that it’s long enough to push behind my ears. I spent the war wishing desperately for bobby pins.”

Mira runs her hands through Steve’s hair, and winces when her fingers catch in the tangles.

“Oh, I threw up in it this morning, took a shower, washed it with soap, and went back to bed with it wet,” Steve says. “The tangles are monstrous some days.”

“Come with me,” Mira says, and Steve stands up. They go through a door previously unnoticed, and enter a room with a sink and a chair. “You know what shampoo is, right?”

“I’ve only ever had one bottle, but yes,” Steve says.

“Good. This is the shampoo I think’s going to be best for your hair,” Mira says, holding out a bottle to Steve.

She opens it and sniffs. “It smells like apples!”

“Yes it does,” Mira says. “Now sit down so I can get the tangles out of your hair.”

Steve sits, and braces herself for tugging. (Sarah Rogers had had a firm hand in her daughter’s hair.) But to her surprise, Mira reaches for another bottle. When she shows it to Steve, it reads _detangler._ A few spritzes, and the process of removing the knots in Steve’s hair is incredibly painless.

Steve enjoys the washing process, perhaps a bit too much, but it’s been literally years since anyone else washed her hair for her. (Well, besides Bucky in the shower, and that didn’t really count.)

“There are many, many products to style, shape, and protect your hair, but we’re going to cover the basics today,” Mira says. “This is conditioner. You put a small amount in your hair, towards the ends, not the roots. Let it sit for a few minutes, then wash it out.” As she does this, she explains that it smooths the hair follicles and adds nutrients in. “It’s not perfect, but it does help prevent split ends,” she says. “Finally, and I personally consider this the most important step, leave-in conditioner. It keeps your hair smooth and shiny when it’s a bit dirty. I’ll put it in after I cut your hair, but usually you do it while your hair is still very wet.”

Steve returns to the chair in the first room, hair hanging limply in her face, and sits docilely while Mira combs it out, then parts it.

“Where do you part it?” she asks.

“I used to do it on the left, but I have no opinions either way,” Steve says.

“Excellent,” Mira says, practically with a cackle, then picks up her scissors and attacks Steve’s head.

Minutes pass and strands of blonde fall to the ground. The redheaded peanut gallery refrains from comments, to Steve’s delight. Finally, she pronounces it done, and pulls out a hair dryer.

“This will be a lesson for later, but I want to see what it looks like dry. Air drying is perfectly fine,” she says, then shoves more product into Steve’s hair and dries it completely.

Pepper quietly hands her a mirror, and she holds it up for Steve to see.

A little bit longer than chin length, it’s sloped just slightly downwards so that the front is longer than the back. Whatever product Mira had used, it brought out the curl in her hair, and when Steve shakes her head, the wisps of hair float gently around.

“Do you like it?” Mira asks.

“I love it,” Steve says. “The future’s amazing. Now if you’ll excuse me, the babies have decided that I am not allowed to have my lunch.” With that, she jumps up and runs out of the room to the bathroom she saw on the way in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, this is how I picture Steve's hair looking by the end.  (Yes I'm aware.)
> 
> So many superbabies and so many plans for the future of this series, I can't contain it sometimes. (And that includes large helpings of Peggy later.) I yell about it on Tumblr a lot. 
> 
> But I've also been watching Parks and Rec, which is simultaneously incredibly entertaining and incredibly distracting.


	5. The Fifth Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns about Bucky and his new arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hated me. That's all I can say about it. (Also, between a class kicking my ass, life, Tumblr, and a heinous amount of naps, I've been neglecting this fic.)
> 
> On another note, this chapter contains brief descriptions of the properties of vibranium. I know next to nothing about the stuff, so just give me the science for this one, okay? Same goes for Bucky's skeletal upgrades.

_June 28, 2011_

_(7w6d)_

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Steve asks.

“It’s going to be great!” Tony says. Steve can hear the little girl squeeing inside him.

“If this breaks anything, I’m going to kill you slowly, Stark,” Bucky says, pulling the glove on over the shiny metal plating of his new hand.

“Oh, it’ll be fine. I just really want to see what happens when vibranium gets hit by the metal in your arm,” Tony says.

“Are you ever going to tell us what it is?” Steve asks.

“After this little demonstration? Maybe,” Tony says.

“Hit me with your best shot, Buck,” Steve says, gritting her teeth.

Bucky flexes his fingers, and Steve can hear the near silent whirring of the internal parts. This finished product is certainly sleeker than the prototype. And Steve has her suspicions of what it’s made of, but she’s not going to steal Tony’s moment.

She braces herself, and turns her head away from the shield held over her head.

“Ready?” Bucky asks.

“Just do it,” Steve says.

The room goes deadly silent as the mechanics in Bucky’s arm turn, pulling it back. Then there’s a huge shockwave devoid of any sound, and Steve is flung across the room, into the mats lining the far wall, nearly hitting the ceiling in the process. As she hits the floor, she hears Tony’s gales of laughter. Her right arm is completely numb from the vibrations, and she turns to glare at him.

“Didn’t consider the properties of vibranium?” she asks.

“Oh, no, I did,” Tony says through hysterical giggles. “I just wanted to see what would happen.”

“Did you write it down?” someone asks from behind him. “If you write it down, it’s science.”

“What the hell just happened?” Bucky asks from the floor. There’s a Bucky-shaped hole in the wall above him.

“Tony decided to test vibranium on vibranium percussion,” Steve says.

“Oh, that would make a good official title for this experiment!” Tony says.

Steve glares harder at him.

“Alright, I’m sorry. But it was fun to watch,” Tony says.

“So when do I get this to stop looking like a metal arm?” Bucky asks.

“I’m still working on getting the synthetic skin to work properly. It could be a few months,” Tony says.

“Well at least it’s lighter than the steel one,” Bucky says.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, they’re stuffed as they walk back to their apartment building. Bucky had asked the driver to drop them a few blocks away.

“I want to try something,” he says, stopping.

Steve gives him a look.

“Not that,” he says. “At least not yet. Although….”

“Not here,” Steve says firmly.

“Fine, fine,” Bucky says. “But jump up here.” He pats his left hip.

Steve secures the shield in its cover on her back, and hops up. Bucky slides his new arm under her thigh and supports her full weight with it. She hooks her hands around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder.

“This arm is good for something after all,” she mutters.

“Shut up,” Bucky says.

Several minutes later, Bucky drops her on their bed.

“Did you get a haircut?” he asks.

“You’re just noticing that now?” Steve asks. “Yes. Like it?”

“I… do. It’s pretty. And practical,” Bucky says.

“And I got modern hair products so I don’t have to use soap anymore!” Steve says.

Bucky takes her face in his hands and leans in to sniff her hair. “Apples!” he says.

“Mhmm,” Steve says. Then she turns her head just slightly and pulls Bucky’s left thumb into her mouth.

He pulls his head back, and stares at her with wide eyes.

“So how did Tony do with the sensitivity in this thing?” she asks.

“He… he did fine,” Bucky says. In seconds, the cornflower blue has been swallowed by black, and his mouth is gaping slightly. He’s completely frozen. Steve takes the opportunity to unfasten the glove from his hand and tug it off. With her teeth. She looks at him through her lashes.

Hands suddenly a blur, his shirt disappears, followed closely by his socks and shoes. He moves towards the fastenings of his pants, but Steve grabs his wrists. She stands, and turns him. The arm is a thing of beauty, all shiny plating and fluid movement. It wraps up around his shoulder, encapsulating the scapula, and curving just short of his collarbone. It’s been made to resemble a muscular human arm, in fact it nearly _matches_ Bucky’s flesh right arm.

“Well he certainly has attention to detail,” Steve says, trailing her fingers down the seams of one of his forearm plates. “How much of your arm is left under there?”

“It’s metal reinforced bone until about halfway down the bicep,” Bucky says, voice shaky.

“About here?” she says.

“Yes,” Bucky gasps.

“And how about this bone?” she asks, poking the spot where his shoulder blade used to be.

“That’s completely metal. The collarbone’s reinforced,” he says.

She pushes him into a sitting position on the bed, and steps back to pull off her own clothes. Wearing only her bra and underwear, she straddles his knees, and quickly licks a stripe across the bone. Making her way down his chest with fingers, he gasps out the state of his skeletal structure. It shouldn’t be erotic, but it _so is._ As it turns out, the entirety of his upper left ribcage is reinforced by vibranium, and his sternum is nearly entirely titanium.

“How did they even do that?” Steve asks. “You have almost no scarring.”

“The doctor was _very_ good at his job. And the serum has something to do with preventing the scarring,” Bucky says. He reaches his right hand up and twirls a finger in her hair. “I really do like it like this. It suits you.”

“You’ll have to tell that to Mira,” Steve says.

“Next time I see her, I’ll be sure to,” he says. His hand slides down her jaw and gently tugs her head forward.

She obliges him and kisses him on a laugh.

“And before you ask, my spine’s been reinforced with vibranium, too,” he says.

“So how useful _is_ that thing?” Steve asks.

Not bothering with a verbal answer, he grabs her by the hips and flips them both onto the bed.

Then he shows her _exactly_ how useful that thing is.

 

* * *

 

Later, when he’s finally asleep, Steve turns on the light, and gingerly lifts it into her lap. The curves shine brightly in the artificial illumination, a stark modern contrast to the face the arm is attached to, still wearing the polish of a 40’s boy in his heart. War had changed them both into people she doubted the 1936 versions of themselves would recognize. But they were still there. There was just more of them now.

She starts to put his arm back when she notices it.

The very bottom plate of his ring finger doesn’t match the rest of the arm. In the place of reflective silver is a thin band of gold. She checks his other hand, and his ring is gone.

“Stark melted it into that plate,” says Bucky in a muffled voice.

Steve says nothing, brushing her thumb over the band.

“Go to sleep, Steve,” he says, and pulls her into his chest with the hand she’s holding.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“It was my pleasure,” he murmurs into the back of her neck.

She yanks the cord on the lamp, and the room falls into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also been extremely distracted by what's going to happen in the future of this 'verse, and exactly what Peggy's going to be doing. I know it's a while off, but it's what I'M excited to write about, so have no fear of abandonment here. And if you miss this story, come harass me on Tumblr. It'll probably kick me into writing something.


	6. The Sixth Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve talks to Pepper. People give Steve stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ass-kicking classes continue. But this chapter devolves into tooth rotting fluff, so...

_July 2, 2011_

_(8w2d)_

* * *

 

The headline catches Steve’s eye as she barrels past it on her morning run.

**_CAPTAIN AMERICA: PREGNANT!_ **

She snatches the newspaper off the stand, and tosses money at the proprietor. Scanning the article, she’s relieved to find that they haven’t _actually_ found out, and everything is based on an extremely unflattering picture of her and Bucky after dinner a week ago.

She bolts home, and tosses it on the kitchen table in front of Bucky, who picks it up and shakes it out, then nearly spits his coffee out onto it.

“How the hell did they find out?” he asks.

“They didn’t, at least not yet,” Steve says, stirring honey into her tea. The tea’s supposed to help with the nausea, but it’s one of the foulest things she’s ever tasted, and she lived through the snake oil salesmen of the Depression. “It’s all speculation and intrigue. But we’re going to have to tell people eventually. It’s not going to be that easy to hide these two for very much longer.”

“Why do we have to tell them at all?” Bucky replies.

“Buck, they’re probably going to notice,” Steve says.

“The future sucks,” he mutters.

“The future does not suck.”

 

* * *

 

“Come in,” the voice from inside the office says in answer to Steve’s knock.

“Morning, Pepper,” she says.

“Ah, Steve,” Pepper says. “I assume this has something to do with this morning’s _Post_ headline?”

“You could say that,” Steve says darkly.

“How much do you know about the paparazzi?” Pepper asks.

“Less than I should, apparently,” Steve says.

“They’re leeches, and they _will_ follow you around,” Pepper says. “The only thing you can really do is control what information you share before they get a hold of it.”

“So I have to tell people or they’ll just do _this_ again,” Steve says, gesturing to the tabloid sitting on Pepper’s desk.

“Unfortunately. You should have seen what happened when Tony had the whole ‘I am Iron Man’ fiasco. That was a media _shitstorm._ It took weeks to deal with the fall out,” Pepper says. “But it also wasn’t planned. At all. Tony was supposed to make a speech about Iron Man being a bodyguard in a suit, and decided to go off script. I love the man, but sometimes he’s such an idiot.”

“Well, I can agree with that,” Steve says.

Pepper rolls her eyes. “I can set up a press conference this afternoon, if you want to,” she says.

“I’d rather wait until after the 4th, if that’s all right with you,” Steve replies.

“Does Tuesday work for you, then?” Pepper asks, consulting a calendar. “It’s scheduled to be a slow news day.”

“Tuesday’s good,” Steve says. “Thanks.”

“No problem. In fact, it’s kind of my job, or one of them anyway” Pepper says. “PR for the Avengers. We’re going to have to get you two your own PR person soon, but for now, I enjoy the parts of PR that don’t involve trying to smooth over pictures of Tony’s ass.”

Steve laughs, and turns to leave, but looks back and asks, “Pepper? Do you know everything?”

Pepper looks up at her, raises an eyebrow and nods.

“I thought so,” Steve says.

 

* * *

 

_July 4, 2011_

_(8w4d)_

* * *

 

Steve opens the fridge and extracts the jar of pickles, and then a tub of banana ice cream from the freezer. She puts them in a bowl and wanders into the living room. It’s just after 8 in the morning, and Bucky’s still passed out. He had had a meeting with SHIELD the night before. He was mostly mum about it, but Steve suspects they’re trying to rope him into being a field agent.

She flips on the news and spoons the ice cream into her mouth while the events of the day scroll by. The top story is the assassination of a European political leader. “Mysterious circumstances” surround the shooting. Apparently the bullet used was very specific, Soviet slug, no rifling. A skateboarding dog also makes an appearance. One of the ‘tidbits’ (which is actually a great way of catching up) makes her laugh.

“On this day in 1918, the woman who would become Captain America was born in Brooklyn,” the announcer says. “Today is her 93rd birthday. Happy birthday Captain.”

An image of the American flag flashes, and the channel goes to commercials.

“Have you noticed the flag?” Bucky says from behind her.

“What, that it has 50 stars now?” Steve replies.

“When did that happen?” Bucky asks, flopping down next to her with an apple in his left hand.

“1959, Buck. There are 50 states now,” Steve says.

“What?!” Bucky says. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she says dryly.

“I got you a present, but it’s in the closet. Are you seriously eating pickles and ice cream for breakfast?”

“Pickles and _banana_ ice cream,” she says.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he replies.

“You grow two humans inside you, and then we’ll talk,” she retorts.

He makes a face at her.

 

* * *

 

They assemble on a mostly-finished floor of Stark Tower to watch the fireworks (and apparently give Steve cake and presents).

Natasha hands her a basket filled with hair products and says, “Mira suggested some, some are my favourites, and a few do double duty as explosives when you mix them, so be careful with the ones in the yellow bottles.”

Steve sets it down gingerly.

Bruce’s gift is a set of beautifully bound books that encompass history from the end of WWII to the present.

“And also, there’s this,” he says, proffering another package. She opens it to find a stack of books with rather racy covers.

“Is this what I think it is?” she asks him.

“If you think it’s trashy romance novels, you’d be right,” he says. Everyone turns to look at him. “I have connections in publishing. Sometimes they send me these. They’re relaxing!”

Clint gives her an object wrapped roughly in newspaper. Two gallons of pickles greet her.

“They’re the best pickles in the entire universe,” he says. “I saw your fridge.”

“When… never mind,” Steve says, then cracks the seal and extracts a pickle. One bite in, and her eyes roll back in her head. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Where did you get it?”

“I have a friend in Little Italy named Fat Mario. He sells them on alternate Tuesdays behind a restaurant called Super Nick’s Pizzeria. I’ll take you next time,” Clint says.

Steve eats the rest of the pickle in three bites.

“This is from me and Pepper,” Tony says, handing her a small box.

She unwraps it, and lifts the lid. Inside, nestled in spangly patriotic tissue paper is a set of keys. When she looks up at him confused, he shrugs.

“I’m redesigning the Tower to have apartments for all of us if and when we want them. Yours just happens to be done first. It’s only partially furnished, Pepper said you’d want to do your own nursery, but—oof.” Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by Steve’s body impacting him. He struggles for a few seconds, then gives in and hugs her back.

“Thank you,” she says. “Really, truly, thank you all.” As she finishes speaking, the sky lights up with fireworks.

They go out onto the balcony to watch the show. Steve leans into the railing, and Bucky comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and rests his head on her shoulder.

“All right,” he says. “The future doesn’t suck.”

 

* * *

 

When they get back to their apartment in Brooklyn, he hands her a bundle wrapped in a blanket.

“It’s not pickles,” he says.

“I’m going to have to kiss him for those pickles,” she says, half serious.

He swats her on the shoulder. “Just open it.”

She flings back the blanket to reveal an intricately carved wooden box.

“Open it,” he urges again.

She lifts the cover and sets it aside on the bed, then gasps when she turns back. The first thing that greets her is Peggy Carter’s face, captured smiling in a photograph. Steve lifts it, and below it are more pictures. Group shots of the Commandos, a candid from the return to camp, several of her and Bucky staring at each other. Then older pictures, some of Brooklyn, a very few of them as children and adolescents. And at the very bottom three pictures that Steve has to hold away from her to avoid splashing with tears. One is a portrait of Sarah Rogers sometime in the mid 1920s, the second is of Bucky’s sister Rebecca and Steve on Steve and Bucky’s wedding day. Rebecca is doing Steve’s hair, and the entire scene just glows. The final photograph captures them both in silhouette, Bucky’s arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, back when they were tiny. It seems innocuous, but Steve remembers that moment very vividly. It was about three seconds before he had gone down on bended knee and asked her to marry him.

She gently sets the pictures back in the box, and puts the cover on, carrying it over to the dresser. She scrubs at her eyes with the hem of her shirt before turning back to him. He’s waiting by the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind him.

“Are those good tears?” he asks.

She nods through sniffles, and he pulls her into a hug.

“How did I get lucky enough to get one of you?” she asks into his quickly dampening shirt.

“The same way I got lucky enough to get one of you, Stevie,” he says.


	7. The Seventh Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is funny sex and lots of ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... what even. 
> 
> College is hard, man. 
> 
> Winter Break starts in about a week, so updates should be more frequent for most of December and January. 
> 
> I said should, not will. Don't hold me to any high standards.

_August 15, 2011_

_(14w5d)_

* * *

 

“Steve,” a voice says. “Steve you have to get out of bed.”

“No,” she replies.

“Steve, it’s 2 in the afternoon. You’ve been in here since 6 last night,” the voice argues.

“It’s _hot_ ,” she says.

“Stark fixed the air conditioning three hours ago.”

“Really?” she asks, flipping onto her back.

“Yes, really. I finally put a shirt back on,” Bucky replies.

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” she replies, fingering the hem of his shirt.

“I could be convinced to take it off again,” he says.

“Oh?” she replies. “And just what would that take?”

“I think I need a kiss,” he says.

“Do you now?” she says, kneeling on the mattress and hooking her hands together behind his head.

“Mmm…” Bucky nods.

“I guess I can accommodate you,” she says, then plants a very loud, very wet kiss on his cheek.

“So that’s how you want to play it?” he says, eyes taking on a sudden gleam.

Steve wrinkles her nose at him. He takes the challenge, and grabs her by the waist, then flips her under him on the bed. What follows can best be described as a snogging competition. It’s incredibly messy, and somehow most of their clothes disappear in the process.

“Now that’s more like it,” Steve says, having ended up on top of Bucky, quite literally sitting on his chest.

“I thought you were hot,” he says.

“I was wearing far more clothes, then,” she replies.

“You were wearing a camisole and underwear,” he retorts.

“And now I’m not,” she says, wiggling her ass for emphasis.

Bucky makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. Steve hums her approval.

“Problem there, Buck?” she asks.

“Same problem as always,” he replies.

“And what would that be?” she asks, cocking her head.

“You, you little shit,” he says, reaching his hands up to rest on her waist again.

She expects him to shift her backwards, but instead he wiggles his fingers. She squirms away, but he does it again, and then it’s an all-out tickle war.

“I’m so glad we got the biggest bed in the store,” Bucky says.

“Oh, I’ll bet you are,” Steve says. She sits up and looks down at him. “You’re still wearing too many clothes. You should probably rectify that.”

The flailing of his limbs as he struggles to remove the offending boxers sends Steve into another fit of giggles, and she starts coughing by the time he comes back up.

“You think that’s funny?” he asks.

She doesn’t reply, but instead does a wild impression of him. He catches her head in his hands and kisses the laugh right out of her, the noise in the room quickly turning from amused to aroused.

“Thought that would shut you up,” he says.

“Oh, really?” she says archly.

“I have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he says. “If you want to see them.”

“Buck, you’re not wearing any sleeves,” she points out unhelpfully.

“Is that a no?” he asks. “Because I can go.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he nips at her nose. Hands braced on either side of her shoulders, he mouths his way down her face, and pauses to gnaw on her collarbone. She smacks him on the head, and he turns to look up at her.

“I am not a chew toy,” she says.

He tweaks her nose with his metal hand, but obliges her, and continues his trail across her skin, sliding down so his weight rests on his elbows beside her waist. Her feet come to rest on the small of his back, and she squirms beneath him, trying to nudge him into something less _teasing._

“Patience is a virtue, Stevie,” he says.

“I’m 93,” she replies. “Patience is overrated.”

“If you insist,” he says, and moves his left hand to her inner thigh, tracing lazy patterns on the translucent skin there.

She thumps him with her heel.

“Problem, Stevie?” he asks.

“Yes, you,” she replies in a gasp.

“Well at least you’re honest about it,” he says, then moves his hand just a little to the left and up.

The feeling of the metal plates of Bucky’s fingers inside her is still a little bit strange, but it’s a good strange. She locks her ankles together as her back arches, and the combined motion causes Bucky to lose the tenuous balance he has on his right elbow and fall face-first into her stomach. Steve cackles with laughter. The movement of Bucky’s fingers stops, and he’s silent for a moment.

Steve starts to say something when he blows a raspberry next to her navel and pushes himself up again.

“It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” Steve says.

Bucky withdraws his fingers and absentmindedly sticks them in his mouth as he stares down at her.

“Now would be a very bad time to drop news on you, wouldn’t it?” he asks.

“Buck. You can tell me whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want. But I will remind you that you have a very horny pregnant woman in your bed, and you probably don’t want to waste the opportunity,” Steve says.

“Good point,” Bucky says, and slides up her body to kiss her again.

Her feet are still resting on the small of his back, and as he moves, her knees fold up under his chest. The motion puts him in the perfect position to slide gently into her.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks.

“Yep,” Steve says shortly between gasps.

“And you know I wouldn’t do anything that you really didn’t want me to do,” he says.

“Yep.”

“So what would you think of me going on missions for SHIELD?”

“Dammit, Buck,” Steve says. “In the middle of sex? Really?”

“It just seemed like…” he replies.

“Oh shut up and fuck me. You can ask all the pressing questions you want later,” Steve says with an exasperated sigh.

“Well when you put it that way,” he says, and rolls over so she is straddling him.

“Make the pregnant lady do all the work,” she says. A moment of frozen silence passes before she cracks up, and covers her face with her hands. “Your face. It was _oh god_ priceless.”

Bucky does his best to silence her after that, but she laughs all the way over the edge, and drags him, with a grudgingly cracked smirk, after her.

 

* * *

 

“So you want to go on SHIELD field missions?” she asks.

“I… I do,” he says.

“So do I,” she says, using the pickle to scoop up more banana ice cream. “Sitting around being pregnant is boring.”

“Steve…” Bucky starts.

“I know, I know,” Steve says. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“That has never stopped you before,” Bucky says.

Steve levels a glare at him and takes a particularly loud crunch out of her pickle.

“Steve, I left you alone for six minutes and you joined the army as a science experiment,” Bucky says.

“Are you ever going to stop bringing that up?” she asks.

“No,” he replies.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Don’t get yourself shot,” she says.

 

* * *

 

Tony woke with a start, not an unusual occurrence these days. A strange noise was coming from somewhere in his apartment. Pepper was still sleeping soundly next to him. He pulls the nightstand drawer open, and extracts an old prototype of an Iron Man gauntlet.

“Jarvis,” he whispers. “Is there someone in the apartment?”

“Yes, sir,” the muted voice of the AI says.

“Am I going to need to shoot them?”

“Captain Rogers-Barnes appears to be removing ice cream from your freezer,” Jarvis says at a normal volume.

“That’s because it’s damn good ice cream,” Steve’s voice sounds from the kitchen.

“Tony, what…” Pepper says, voice slurred in sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Pep,” Tony says. “I have a Capsicle to deal with.”

“Sure, sure,” Pepper says, and her breathing evens out again.

Tony doesn’t put the gauntlet down as he quietly leaves the bedroom.

Steve is standing in the middle of his kitchen, light from the freezer spilling on her as she piles cartons of ice cream into a basket.

“Why are you stealing my ice cream at….3 in the morning?” Tony asks.

“I’m hungry, and the babies demanded banana ice cream. I asked Jarvis where I could get some at this time of night, and he said your freezer,” she replies.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Tony says. “Just… make sure you shut the freezer when you’re done.”

“Of course,” she says with a sunny smile.

Tony mutters something about crazy pregnant women, and goes back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he receives a picture of Steve eating his ice cream with a pickle.

He finds breakfast less appetizing after that.

 

* * *

 

A shipment of banana ice cream arrives on Steve and Bucky’s doorstep a few days later, with a note in large block letters that says **_STOP RAIDING MY FREEZER!!!_**

Steve has the good sense to look at least a little mollified, and replaces the cartons she took from Tony’s freezer.

He doesn’t eat them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still spend my days and nights crying over the future of these idiots.


	8. The Eighth Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Steve. Very bad Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do enjoy causing them pain...

_September 4, 2011_

_(17w4d)_

 

* * *

 

Steve’s ankle throbs in time with her heart, which is beating extremely fast. She’s sitting in a hospital room, her right thumb hovers over Bucky’s name in her phone. She knows his reaction, and it isn’t going to be pretty. Instead, she scrolls down and taps Natasha’s name.

“I’m in a meeting, Rogers,” comes Nat’s hissed answer. “This better be important.”

“I might have done something a little bit stupid,” Steve says.

“What now?” Nat moans. “Excuse me, gentlemen, my friend is being an idiot again.”

“I’m in the ER… with a broken ankle,” Steve says.

Steve can practically see Natasha’s hand pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why are you calling me instead of your husband?”

“He might have specifically told me not to go on this mission and that it was too dangerous for someone in my condition,” Steve says, wincing as she does.

“You’re an idiot, Steve,” Natasha says. “I actually happen to be privy to that particular mission and its current status. When SHIELD agents showed up, there was considerable damage to the facility, and men incapacitated, but most of the important ones got away. Fled into the wind. Six months of work gone. Do you understand what this means?”

“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” Steve says.

“No, they are not going to kill you. They are, however, going to put you under constant surveillance until you give birth, to make sure nothing like this happens again. That means that Bucky, me, or some agent will be with you at _all times_ ,” Natasha says.

“But I’m not going to do it again!” Steve says.

“You know you will. You’re stubborn, Stephanie Rogers-Barnes. It’s one of the things that makes you a wonderful Captain America. But you’ve got more than just your personal safety to think about right now,” Natasha says. “How did you even break your ankle, anyway?”

“I chased a man off a roof,” Steve says. “It was a further drop than…I…orig… Shit.”

“Oh, has your death just walked through the door?” Natasha says, far too cheerfully.

“Shut up,” Steve says, and hangs up. Her blood has turned to ice as she looks up.

In the doorway stands Bucky, wearing dirt, soot, and blood-stained tactical gear, his hair a complete disaster, and a glare that could melt metal in his eyes. Steve is frozen.

“What were you thinking?” he asks, voice quiet.

“I read the report, and I thought I could—” Steve starts.

“I told you the plan for this mission. I told you it was too dangerous,” Bucky interrupts, still eerily calm.

“You always think everything is too dangerous!” Steve shouts. “I’m pregnant, not dead!”

“ _My God_ , Steve,” Bucky says, finally stepping fully into the room. “That’s just it. You’re _pregnant!_ You’re not indestructible. You have three lives to think about now, not just your own!”

“The world doesn’t stop being bad just because I’m pregnant!”

“Exactly! I’m trying to make the world a better place for our daughters! We have to be more careful now. There are tiny humans who depend on us for life,” Bucky says, voice rising. “I need you to be safe and protect them. And you can’t do that while you’re jumping off buildings. That was incredibly stupid of you to do, Steve.”

“I—” Steve says.

“Not now, Steve,” Bucky says, turning away. “I need time to think.”

 

* * *

 

Steve comes home that night with a walking cast and instructions to see the SHIELD doctors in the morning. The apartment is empty, and Bucky’s side of the bed is untouched. She texts him, _The babies are fine. I’m sorry. I love you. Steve._

There’s no reply.

Steve mechanically changes into her pajamas and climbs into the bed.

It's cold and lonely there, but it kind of feels like she deserves it.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, she wakes later than normal, and the blankets next to her are still smooth. She goes out into the kitchen, and finds a note left on the table, Bucky’s handwriting. _I’m sorry. I need space to think. Don’t do anything stupid. Of course, the last time I said that, you went and got serum injected into you. I should have expected that. Bucky._

No _I love you._ Only his name.

Steve’s stomach ties itself in a knot.

 

* * *

 

She sees him later in the lobby, but he doesn’t seem to notice her.

Steve sobs silently in the bathroom.

Several men are put out about that.

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly 36 hours after his departure that they find themselves in an enclosed space together. Steve gets into the elevator, and stands next to an intern holding a box of folders. Bucky gets in three floors later, and stands on the intern’s other side.

The intern gets out six floors after that, having practically stabbed the button.

The elevator continues to rise, and Steve’s hands are sweating profusely. The baby on top starts to kick her in the ribs, and she grimaces, poking the baby in an attempt to get it to move. It doesn’t work. She looks up and finds Bucky staring at her stomach, brows furrowed. Without saying anything, he reaches out a hand and brushes the baby’s side. The baby moves away into a less painful position.

“Thanks,” Steve mutters.

Bucky nods curtly.

Steve looks up at him, itching to touch him, but not knowing if it would be welcome. “You have something on your shirt,” she mumbles.

He looks down, and she reaches up to brush off invisible lint. Seemingly of their own accord, her fingers seize his shirt in two handfuls, and pull him down, backing up until she’s against the wall. His face is centimeters from hers and she stares into his eyes. They’re glassy and red rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“That’s enough,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out.

“Then shut up and kiss me,” she replies.

He does.

Minutes and floors later, they break for air. Bucky’s hands are braced on either side of Steve’s shoulders, and she maintains the death grip in his shirt. Cornflower blue eyes bore into crystal.

Then the elevator dings. The doors slide open, and another intern starts to step inside, but they both turn their heads to glare at her.

“I’ll just… catch the next one…” she says, escaping.

The elevator finally makes it to the upper floors of the Tower, and they have to break for Steve to scan her thumbprint.

“I can’t stop trying to save people when I know there’s evil out there,” Steve says, staring at the glowing buttons.

“I know,” Bucky says softly, hands resting on her shoulders. “I just need you to keep three very specific people safe for the next few months.”

“Who?” Steve asks, leaning back into him. It’s easier to talk when she’s not looking at him.

“You and these two,” he says and splays a hand across her stomach. “The most important people in my life.”

“I _am_ sorry,” she says.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says.

They ride the rest of the way in silence.

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting on the couch watching TV when something Bucky said in the hospital finally registers with Steve.

“Did you say _daughters_?” she asks.

“Did I?” Bucky replies.

“In the hospital, while you were yelling at me. How did you find out? I thought we were going to wait,” Steve says.

“I may have looked at the records while the doctor was turned away…” Bucky says.

“I love you, you know,” Steve says.

“I love you too. But you realize this means I win the bet,” Bucky replies.

“What bet?” Steve says. “Oh, wait. The naming bet. God, please don’t name one of them Bertha.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Bucky chuckles. “But since there’s two of them, I figured I’d let you pick their middle names.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies dryly. “What did you choose for first names?”

Bucky sits up and looks at her. “This one,” he says, poking the lower baby, “is Sarah. This one is Margaret.”

“You want to name them after my mother and Peggy?” Steve says, everything blurring as tears form in her eyes.

“Absolutely. The strongest women I knew. Well, besides you, but we agreed no juniors,” Bucky says.

Steve curls into him and starts crying into his shoulder.

“Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Shut up. I’m pregnant. Pregnant women are allowed to cry.”

Bucky runs his hand through her hair and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [Firefly’s Love](http://www.fireflysspookylove.tumblr.com). Lots of Stucky. It is multifandom.


End file.
